One sack contains: One classic-red YSL lipstick, to wear with a tartan hat that comes as a knit-yourself kit by Wool and the Gang (or I can knit it up for you!)

Woof, five years! Before I get all sentimental about what five years ago felt like for me in terms of how many more stairs I was able to climb without throwing up my lungs, let me just say, FIVE!? Come on, vaccinations, play dates, potty training… don’t you get some kind of medal for this? Oh I forgot, this bundle of joy of mine lives on the internet. Can we just pretend for the sake for things, that it’s a living, screaming, kicking, pooping child – because thanks to you, loyal readers + occasional swing by-ers + first time visitors, this kid is fat and very happy. And it’s his 5th birthday today. (Well, it was technically back sometime in November but I’m a shitty parent, remember) Thank you for feeding bacon through the cage, and thank you most of all, for your support for the past five years. I’m very lucky to have you all. Oh there goes the emotions, paypal me some tissues will ya.

I’ve prepared some gifts for you, and while I’m sad that I cannot gift each and every one of my readers, I will sure strive to create content that hopefully will educate/entertain/inspire you, even accidentally, in the coming five years. In the meantime, do stick around!

Sunday, 15th December 2013 23:59 GMT

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Paris is my lover – everyone knows that – we make sweet love every now and then, and it’s beautiful. Sometimes it makes me cry like a little boy. But if I’m honest, I don’t think I’d be up for a long-term relationship. As you know, I did one week this time and sure, it was electrifying at the start – to be able to decorate my own Parisian flat with baguettes and… baguettes (!), but the magic wore off quickly. Near the end of it, it was just early nights with microwave meals, t-shirts + jeans, and bickering in the metro. In fact, I recall something similar happened last season too, which was when my eczema was at its worst, after days of working in the bitter cold I’d completely fallen out of charm with being in the city. I suppose it’s the gritty truth of having to work, and the stress attached to it, not to mention the language barrier – asking how to get to the ‘piscine’ sure never got me very far (further than the closest swimming pool, that is). Oh, but what would be a story of lovers without proper ending? On this trip, I moved out of my little flat in Oberkampf, into a great little hotel on the left bank, and spent the last two days with team Next and some of my favourite blogger girls* doing absolutely postcard Paris holiday things: like learning to make macarons, or going on a chocolate tour sampling goodies from Pierre Hermé and éclairs from Angelina. We visited the Eiffel on a hazy morning, and even having seen it nearly every day for the past week, it felt like meeting someone for the first time.

Aaaand I was smitten again. Paris my luvrr, hope to see you soon, short and sweet, next time.

I know I exaggerate a fair bit in this blog (i.e I haven’t slept last night so I MAY DIE), but I wasn’t actually kidding when I said I spent the whole week in Paris bumming in and around the rented flat, in my last post. The flat was on Rue Oberkampf, a third-floor walk-up just above a shabby bar heaving with ‘le cool’ after 10pm, all of which basically characterizes the entire neighbourhood. Oberkampf is a bit of a Dalston in Paris, a slightly grungier area on the fringes of a ‘hip’ part of town like Shoreditch, or Le Marais, in this case. Jin, his girlfriend and I met for dinner in the area and simply ended up shooting all these photos, mucking around in the neighbourhood. He shoots streetstyle by day (for Topshop and his own streetstyle blog), which is how I got to know him in the first place, but it was the photos he did ‘by night’ that I loved, and sure enough, by the time we were out of the restaurant his Contax was out from his jacket. I’d just recently found a great glasses brand called Ace & Tate via Fashiolista, and got a few pairs matched with a newly updated prescription for my ever bat-like eyesight, and wanted to share here somehow. This just turned out to be so much more fun way than the usual jazz – posing but not posing, just short of shooting with a baguette shoved up my nose, and visible or not, there’s a jelly worm in my mouth in each shot.

I know I constantly joke about my boobs and oddly seem to have embraced the fact that I can jog without the fear of getting punched by ‘fast moving parts’, and that my second and third blouse buttons have never had to work very hard except on the rare chicken-fillet days. And let’s just say I wear a bra to keep warm. Shamefully at times I don’t realise, that this something I often joke about, is a heart-ache and grief to some others.My own tiger mother has been fighting cancer (thyroid) in the past few years, and while I don’t wish to reveal too much personal detail, there was a definite impact – not only for the diagnosed, but one that rippled through and shook the core of everyone she mattered to, and whom mattered most to her. So I’m happy to collaborate with Tommy Hilfiger, who have joined forces with Breast Health International and released a beautiful, practical bag to make some beautiful, practical changes to those diagnosed with Breast Cancer. A little jump makes a big difference, and get this, your jump can be in the form of a new, limited-edition bag. Usually I’d ask do you reeeally need a new bag, but this time I think you need a new bag for work because that one in the corner there is looking very tattered right now. Yes, that one. Tell me there’s a better excuse to support a great cause. A whopping £100 of every sale (of £299.90 retail price) will go directly to Breast Health International’s “Fund For Living”, and I know for some of my readers this might be quite a high price for a bag, but can I suggest your ‘little jump’ to be a cheeky little re-tweet or a share? OR do what I like to do and wail in a supermarket aisle until your mother surrenders and buys you that Ferrero Rocher-studded bear toy – something like this. Works every time.

This is one of those ‘where are you looking, my boobs are down here‘ tops that I own, I get very tactical with my clothes sometimes. That’s from growing up with braces and bony legs (where did thatgo), I guess; I had a ‘Please be my friend’ t-shirt at one point too and I’d wear it when I’d feel particularly desperate, or when all my Regina George tank-tops were in the wash. Anyhoo. This was shot just before the weather turned a corner to coldsville, in fact, it was this particular day when Kit and I huddled up under her tiny black umbrella outside the British Museum with jumbo icecreams from Baskin-Robbins. That’s what I love most about being an adult, the fact that you can choose be a kid anytime. Like yesterday I swam in the bathtub, or the day before when I wailed for half an hour in Sephora because I lost my mother near the YSL counter. But I do my own taxes, I swear.